


On the Hunt (For You)

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clubbing, Confessions, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Future Fic, Getting Together, Grinding, Jealous Chris Argent, Jealousy, M/M, Making Out, Monster of the Week, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 03, Spark Stiles Stilinski, incubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 06:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17862491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: Stiles opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then Chris’ hands were cupping his face, calloused thumbs running along his cheekbones. Stiles gasped, staring up into eyes the right shade of blue. His heart sped up in his chest, but the fluttering in his stomach was welcome.“Tell me you want this,” Chris demanded, his voice a deep rumble that had Stiles nodding before he even registered the words.





	On the Hunt (For You)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be for Stargent week and it didn’t work out, so. Here ya go. 
> 
> beta'd by the amazing [AuguriesofInnocence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuguriesofInnocence)!

It was an incubus. At this point in his life, Stiles had to wonder why he was even surprised that such things existed. Hell, his entire friend group was made up of various different creatures: werewolves, were-coyotes, a kitsune, a banshee and a few chimeras. Stiles himself, while not a supernatural  _ creature _ , was still a supernatural being (his spark had flourished during senior year, unlocked by the nogitsune’s stay in his head). 

Having an incubus in Beacon Hills made perfect sense, all things considered. Having an incubus stalking the Jungle for prey made less sense, in Stiles’ opinion, but he had long since learned to roll with the punches. Punches like being sent to the  _ Jungle  _ to capture the damn thing. 

It was Stiles and Chris who went to the club, the only two in the pack who would be immune to its lure—Stiles, because of his spark, and Chris, because he had dealt with an incubus before. They drove together, taking Chris’ Tahoe with Stiles awkwardly folded into the passenger seat, arms wrapped around his bare waist.

Stiles had dressed with the knowledge that they were going to a club. He may have just graduated from high school, but senior year had been a hell of a time, and he had graduated with both magic and an appreciation for men—an appreciation for men that he had done his best to cultivate.

It was easier than one would think to get a fake ID while having the Sheriff as a father, and Stiles had quickly realized that the tighter his jeans were the less time the bouncer spent looking at him. He had been going to the  _ Jungle  _ for a few months, and when Scott informed him that he and Chris would be the ones going to track down the incubus, Stiles had gotten excited.

And so Stiles had dressed for the club. 

Chris had not. 

While Stiles was wearing his tightest pair of jeans and a  _ crop top _ , Chris was wearing his usual hunting attire: combat boots, roughened jeans and a leather jacket that was most likely concealing at least one gun. He looked good—Chris  _ always _ looked good—but Stiles felt ridiculous sitting beside him, the radio playing softly between them. 

Chris hadn’t said a single word to him since he picked him up, and Stiles couldn't help but blame what he was wearing. Of course his outfit would make Chris uncomfortable. Stiles may have been hoping for a different response, but he had learned enough about hope in the last few years that he should have realized how foolish his idea had been. 

When they finally pulled up to the club, Stiles asked, “What’s the plan?” 

Chris didn’t say anything for a long moment, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead, just like they’d been during the entire drive. The breath he took was audible over the radio, and Stiles sunk further into his seat. “You should be able to sense its magic, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, chewing on his bottom lip. “I won’t be able to see it from afar, but if I get close to it, I should know right away. 

“Alright. It’s a club, and it’s going to be packed tonight. It’s too dangerous to split up. Just because we can’t be affected by its lure doesn’t mean it won’t be stronger and faster than both of us,” Chris said, moving in his seat before he handed over a card. “I want this back at the end of the night.”

Stiles took the ID, mouth dropping open as he read over the details. New name, new date of birth, but the same photo that was on his license. Stiles turned to Chris with a raised brow, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “This is  _ really _ good. How the hell did you do this?”

“Tricks of the trade,” was all Chris said before he stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut. 

Stiles let out a tired sigh, climbing out of the car slowly. He would usually be  _ far _ more excited for a night at the  _ Jungle _ , but Chris’ reaction to seeing him had severely brought down his initial good mood. He got out of the car and trailed after the older man, the same silence that had plagued the car ride still heavy between them. 

The line wasn’t too long and Stiles could hear the music pumping from inside. By the time they reached the door Stiles was in better spirits, his smile growing wider when he saw who was working the gate. The bouncer was a large man, easily over six feet with arms the size of Stiles’ head. His face was set into a grimace that lightened as Stiles stepped up. 

“Hey, Trev,” the man said, his voice every bit as intimidating as the rest of him.

“Hi, Ares,” Stiles said, his smile coming easier. “How’re you tonight?”

“Not as good as you,” he replied, raising a brow and taking a long, suggestive look at Chris.

Stiles flushed, his face going warm as he tried to think of something to say. He could only imagine what Ares was thinking of seeing him and Chris together. Stiles’ preference for older men wasn’t a secret, and a lot of his friends at the club knew about it simply because of the men he usually danced with. 

Chris cleared his throat loudly, and Stiles looked over to find Chris watching him with a raised brow. “Oh, uh, right? Well, it was nice seeing you, man,” Stiles said, fumbling over his words while Ares chuckled warmly. He didn’t say anything else, letting them through the door without asking for either of them for their ID’s.

The music hit him as soon as he stepped through the door, the bass shaking through his entire body and making his heart sing. It smelled like sweat and adrenaline and Stiles breathed it in, letting the atmosphere wash over him as the tension in his shoulders eased out of him. He never would have expected that a place like this would bring him comfort, but there was something about the flashing lights and writhing bodies that made him feel at ease.

Chris grabbed his bicep tightly, and the moment of calm was no more. His grip was firm, fingers digging into Stiles’ skin, and he could do nothing but follow as Chris tugged him to one of the booths lining the wall. The man stopped so abruptly that Stiles nearly ran into him, but then Chris was turning around and backing him against the edge of the table. 

“What the hell was that?” Chris demanded, more anger in his voice than Stiles had been expecting. 

He blinked, trying to figure out what had happened that could have caused Chris to react this way. The man’s jaw was set into an angry line, his brows pulled down low over his eyes. Stiles’ breath got caught up in his throat and he couldn't pull his eyes away. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles answered honestly, the table digging into his back when Chris crowded closer. Stiles could smell him, the sharp scent of his cologne, and he breathed it in without meaning to. His heart rate sped up, both with fear and excitement, and he looked up at Chris from under his lashes. 

“How about you start by explaining who  _ Trev _ is?” Chris’ fingers dug deeper into his arm, nails catching on skin. The words were laced with anger and something Stiles couldn’t recognize, something he didn’t think had ever been directed at him before.

“It’s the name on my fake,” Stiles told him and Chris honest to god growled. The sound shot through Stiles’ body, excitement mixing with something warmer. “It’s the name I go by when I come here.”

“And how often do you come here?” The words were simple enough, but Stiles couldn’t make out what Chris’ tone meant.

“I...a few times a month,” Stiles told him, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Give it to me,” Chris demanded, his words clipped and short. 

“What?”

“Give me your ID.”

Stiles bristled, his magic flaring under his skin as it reacted to the perceived threat. He had no idea what was going on, but Chris was still staring at him with the same heavy look in his eyes, hand still gripping Stiles’ bicep this side of too tight. “Dude, calm down, you’re not my dad,” 

Chris stepped back suddenly, the angry expression melting off his face and sliding into a blank mask. “You’re right,” he said, his tone flat. “I’ll be at the bar.”

With that he turned away, and Stiles was left utterly confused. A glance down showed marks left on his arm from where Chris’ nails had dug into his skin, and a glance  _ further _ down showed the semi he was sporting. Well, he certainly had a conditioned response to being threatened by older men. 

Stiles took a deep breath, trying to push away the unease he felt. He was here for a reason, he reminded himself, and he shook out his arms in hopes of dispelling some of his nervous energy. His eyes found Chris at the bar, leaning against the edge and talking with a bartender. Stiles had no idea what he was doing, and he told himself he didn’t care. 

People were dying. Whatever issues Chris had with him visiting the club could wait until they had the time for it. Stiles breathed in, pulling at his spark until it sat just under the surface of his skin. He smiled, enjoying the now-familiar hum of magic and the way it beat in time with the pumping music. 

The rest of his tension eased away as he walked into the mass of moving bodies. He let his eyes drop closed, caged in on all sides by other people as he began to sway to the music. It was heady, being part of the crowd. The only light came from bright flashes of colour that pulsed periodically, only building on the beat of music. 

It was easy to lose himself here, and it was often why he came. There was always so much, too much, going on, and Stiles often felt like he was drowning in it all. When he was here, amidst countless other bodies, he could let his fears and responsibilities fade away. He was nothing more than the song playing and the lights flashing and his body, moving with the crowd. 

Stiles danced, pushing away what had happened with Chris and focusing on the euphoria that was welling up, building in his gut with the bass and climbing up his body. He tossed his head back and let his eyes fall closed, swaying to the beat, nothing more than a faceless body among the crowd. 

Someone pressed closely behind him, solid and warm, and their hands slipped  onto his waist. Long fingers held him tightly, pulling him back into a wall of muscle, and Stiles rolled his hips into the man’s body. Coarse hair scratched the skin of his throat and Stiles moaned, covering the rough hands with his own as he continued to sway his hips in beat with the music. 

Stiles let his eyes drop closed as he moved with the body behind him, enjoying the dance. The other man was hard, his erection pressing into Stiles’ hip, and Stiles was hard too, his erection digging painfully against the zipper of his jeans. He ground his hips back with purpose, laughing at the low grunt that slipped past the man’s lips.

Tongue touched his neck and Stiles arched his back and his neck, giving the man more room. Stiles let out a low groan when teeth scraped over his skin, rolling his hips backwards again. His pace faltered when the hands on his hips tightened and Stiles continued to grind into the hardness digging into his ass. 

He let himself be turned around, sliding a hand up the man’s impressive arm to settle behind his neck. He only got a quick glimpse of his dance partner before their mouths were pressing together, teeth clanking as they licked into one another's mouth. His beard scratched Stiles’ upper lip and his chin as their tongues tangled together. 

Stiles pressed closer, bringing their bodies flush together and rolling his hips forward. He groaned into the man’s mouth when their hips came together, the pressure against his dick making his blood sing. He was hyper-focused, all of his attention narrowed down to the small space between their chests, the air they were sharing, and the way his body felt. 

A hand settled hot and heavy against his ass, spanning an entire cheek easily. Stiles moaned at the images that brought to mind, breaking the kiss to take in a deep breath of air. 

“Want to take this outside?” Stiles asked, filled with breathless anticipation as he finally got a good look at the stranger. 

The man was more attractive than Stiles had been expecting. Clear, pale eyes lined with deeply etched lines, face covered in a thick, greying beard. He looked a little old, closer to sixty than fifty, but Stiles didn’t care. He felt good, high on the adrenaline of the club and hard in his pants. Stiles wanted more, needed more, and he laughed, bright and full of enthusiasm, when the man nodded. 

Stiles pressed in for a few more kisses, slower than before but just as deep, tangling his fingers into the short hairs along the back of the other man’s neck. When Stiles pulled back, the man’s eyes were dark, his lips were twisted up into a hungry looking smile. Stiles trailed his hand down the man’s arm until he could twine their fingers together, and then he used their joined hands to lead him outside. 

It wasn’t Stiles’ first time hooking up with someone at the  _ Jungle _ and he led them to the side door easily. He kept hold of the man’s hand as they walked through the crowd, slipping between bodies. Stiles felt like he was forgetting something, but the man was so warm against his back that it was easier to push the stray thought away. 

The cool air was a refreshing shock from the heated club. Stiles skipped down the steps, pulling the man with him. He turned, letting his back hit the side wall of the club. The man caged him in with his bulk, pressing Stiles further into the wall as he devoured Stiles’ mouth. They both moaned when they pressed back together, and Stiles’ hips twitched forward on their own. 

It felt far better than it should have, a messy kiss and a thigh to rut against, but Stiles lost himself in the sensation. His skin was on fire, his entire body too warm, heated with arousal. He was panting, losing air into the space between their mouths, and it felt like the man was breathing in every breath of air that Stiles breathed out. 

Stiles was overwhelmed, so hard in his pants that it physically hurt. He gasped, his brain feeling muddled. He tried to bring up an arm but his limbs felt weak even as he continued to kiss back. Panic tried to rise up in his stomach but it was forced back down by his arousal. He could feel nothing but arousal. 

Groaning, he tried to pull back but he couldn't move away from the kiss, away from where the other man’s hands were still touching him. He had no idea what was going on, his brain too thick and addled to work up a proper thought. He tried to breathe in but his lungs felt too tight, just like the rest of him.

Suddenly the oppressing heat and overwhelming pressure  _ stopped _ , leaving Stiles barren and cold and overwhelmed in a completely different way. He sucked in a sharp breath, throwing his head back against the wall behind him, finally able to move his body. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, and Stiles hadn’t even realized that he couldn't hear anything until the sense was back. 

He looked down, only to squeeze his eyes shut when he saw the body that was now bleeding out, a bullet hole glaring up at Stiles from the back of his head. Stiles took a deep, calming breath before he, without looking, stepped over the body. When he dared to look down he was pleased to see that he had cleared the puddle of blood, and he looked back up.

Chris was standing right outside of the club’s door, gun still in his hand where it was held loosely by his side. The silencer was still smoking, and Stiles knew that whatever he used to put the... _ fuck _ , the incubus down wasn’t a regular bullet. 

Shame flooded Stiles, making his skin feel too tight. His eyes burned, tears threatening to spill over as the reality of what had just happened set in. He had almost died. His heart kicked up, beating impossibly faster even as it became harder and harder to take in a full breath, his lungs feeling like they were too full for any more air. They burned, his entire chest too hot and feeling like it was going to burst open. 

“Are you alright?” Chris asked, and the concern in his voice made Stiles want to be sick. He shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself tightly.  _ Fuck _ . 

The worst part, the part that made Stiles want to claw out of his own skin, was that it hadn’t even used its magic. Stiles had willingly been led outside by the creature he was supposed to be looking for, by the creature who he was supposed to identify with his magic. But he hadn’t, too caught up in the thrill of it all, too caught up in the lights and the music and the feeling of being wanted. 

“The lure wasn’t supposed to work on you,” Chris said, suddenly only a step in front of him. Stiles dropped his eyes, something dark and ugly curling up his spine. 

“I...it didn’t,” Stiles admitted, refusing to look up and see the disgust that would be on Chris’ face. “I didn’t sense his magic because he didn’t use any.”

Chris took a step back, his face falling into a mask of confusion that Stiles only caught a quick glimpse of. He visibly struggled to find something to say, eyes darting around the empty alleyway. After a long moment he finally settled on, “I don’t understand.” 

“He...uh, he was hot,” Stiles admitted, hunching his shoulders in at the look Chris gave him. 

“I don’t...”

“What, Chris?” Stiles asked tiredly. Now that the threat was gone, Stiles just wanted to go home. He didn’t want to stand there and have that conversation, he didn’t want to keep feeling sick inside of his own skin. He wanted to shower, to wash away the sin it felt like he had committed. 

“You’re saying...” Chris trailed off again, his voice sounding faint. Stiles didn’t want to deal with the judgment that he knew he would be faced with, not when he already felt this bad about himself. 

“Yeah, Chris. I’m into older men, alright? I voluntarily left the club to hook up with someone older than my fucking dad. He didn’t have to use magic because I wanted to be fucked by him!” The words were shouted, embarrassment and shame and  _ guilt  _ heavy in Stiles’ heart.

The burning in his eyes spilled over, and he realized he was crying only to cry harder. His face was burning with embarrassment, his entire body shivering as adrenaline that had quickly flooded his system all drained away. He looked up to find Chris watching him with hard, dark eyes, the same unknown expression from earlier.

“So that was consensual?”

Stiles was quiet for several long, drawn-out moments before he finally admitted. “Up until he tried to feed off me, yeah.”

Chris’ face did something infinitely more complicated than before. Stiles wiped harshly at his cheeks, feeling foolish and exposed and split open. His magic was fluctuating under his skin, feeling weak in a way that Stiles had never felt from it before. Stiles heard Chris walk forward, but he didn’t look up, breathing in deeply as he tried to calm down and steady out his emotions. 

He stopped just in front of Stiles, and he could see the edge of Chris’ boots where his eyes were still focused on the floor. A chill had settled under his bones, and not for the first time that night Stiles regretted his cropped shirt. 

“C’mere,” Chris said, his voice impossibly soft, and Stiles fell forward, letting Chris bundle him against his chest. 

Chris held him tightly, arms wrapped securely around Stiles’ waist and to keep him pressed in close. He tangled his own fingers into Chris’ shirt, letting out everything he was feeling. Chris was warm, and Stiles felt safe wrapped up inside his heavy arms, feeling and smelling nothing but Chris. 

It helped. Stiles focused on the way it felt to be held, letting the safety and comfort he got from Chris calm him down until he wasn’t crying anymore. He didn’t pull back, didn’t even think to, and instead he wrapped his arms around Chris’ waist to hug him back. 

“I'm so sorry,” Chris mumbled words pressed into Stiles’ temple. Chris’ beard scratched his forehead and Stiles pressed even closer as he made a questioning noise. “I shouldn’t have let you go out with that man.”

“What d’you mean?” Stiles asked quietly. 

“I watched you dancing with him. God, I wanted to tear him apart for touching you,” Chris told him, his voice dropping into a growl that travelled down Stiles’ spine. He shivered, pressing even closer. His nose was pressed against Chris’ neck and he breathed in deeply, rubbing his forehead against the warm skin. “I should have known he was the incubus. I should have trusted my gut but I...I thought I was just jealous.”

Stiles made a little noise, mostly confusion, and hope began to bubble up in his chest. Chris’ hand was warm where it was petting up and down his back, long, sweeping strokes that Stiles easily relaxed under. 

“Why were you jealous?” Stiles asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper, his lips brushing the prickled skin of Chris’ jaw. 

The laugh Chris let out held no humour. He pulled Stiles tighter, hand settling on the flat of his back, one above the swell of his ass and the other pressing between his shoulders, both against bare skin. “Do you have any idea how badly I want you, how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you since you showed up like this?”

Chris tugged at the back of Stiles’ shirt, fingers slipping across his bare back. He leaned down, dragging his nose over Stiles’ cheek, chin rubbing against Stiles’ jaw. Stiles let out a breathless moan, tilting his head back so Chris had more room. 

“This fucking  _ shirt _ ,” Chris growled, words pressed into the side of Stiles’ throat. 

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then Chris’ hands were cupping his face, calloused thumbs running along his cheekbones. Stiles gasped, staring up into eyes the right shade of blue. His heart sped up in his chest, but the fluttering in his stomach was welcome. 

“Tell me you want this,” Chris demanded, his voice a deep rumble that had Stiles nodding before he even registered the words. 

The kiss wasn’t anything like Stiles had expected. Chris kissed him gently, so gently it fucking hurt, and a wounded noise slipped past Stiles’ lips. Their lips slid together easily, fitting together just as well as the rest of them did. Chris’ hands slid to the back of his neck and held him in place as he deepened the kiss. 

Slowly, Stiles warmed, arousal flickering in the pit of his stomach, spurred on by the way Chris was holding him like Stiles was  _ his _ , licking into his mouth possessively. Stiles all but melted into it, and he pressed impossibly closer. When their hips met, Chris was already hard, an impressive length pressing into Stiles’ hip. 

“God, baby,” Chris moaned, and Stiles felt an odd sense of pride well up in his stomach at being able to cause such a reaction. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” Chris told him, and Stiles couldn’t look away from the truth in his eyes. It made his head spin and his heart ache, but his lips pulled up into a smile. 

“I want you too. Why do you think I wore a crop top?” Stiles asked, his heart lighting up when Chris laughed, a deep, joyous noise. He took a deep breath, staring up into Chris’ eyes, and admitted, “I...I really like you.” 

“I really like you too,” Chris said, once again rubbing the pads of his thumb over Stiles’ cheekbones. “We need to talk more. I—I would like to take you home, get you cleaned up and make sure you’re okay. And we can figure out what this all means.”

The reminder was painful, and Stiles took a deep, shaky breath as everything that had happened that night caught up with him all over again. He was exhausted, so tired it was heavy in his bones, but he nodded. Letting Chris clean him up sounded promising. 

“Wait in the car, and I’ll take care of this, alright?” Chris told him, and the words washed over him like an order, making him shiver. Stiles didn’t miss the way Chris’ eyes darkened when he nodded, and he tilted his head up. Chris obliged him, kissing Stiles sweetly three times before he finally pulled back. 

Chris’ smile was soft, and Stiles knew his could only be softer. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are much appreciated!  
> [my dreamwidth](https://lavenderlotion.dreamwidth.org/) and my [my tumblr](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)


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